


your weight on the moon

by noncorporealform



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Space, Amputation, Body Horror, Drug Use, M/M, Self-Destruction, Suicidal Thoughts, i just wanted hank to be a space trucker, i've seen alien a fair few times i admit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-01 17:09:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15778422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noncorporealform/pseuds/noncorporealform
Summary: After the death of his son, all Hank wants to do is run away. He takes a job transporting cargo from mining colonies back to earth in a ship he mans alone. He plans to work and drink himself to death somewhere out in space.Then he accepts a contract with CyberLife and gets saddled with an android named Connor. Suddenly space isn’t big enough.





	1. somewhere in space, this may all be happening right now

**Author's Note:**

> i've been talking about this one for a while and i'm glad to finally be pushing this onto the internet. this should be a pretty fun, suspenseful space romp and i hope you like it.
> 
> fic title from the man, or astroman? EP, a band i always recommend listening to

Space was probably going to kill him.

More or less, that’s why he’d taken the job.

There were only two real reasons to take the job at all. The money was good, and if you loved something bigger than yourself, like your family, you ate what the company supplied you and sent the rest back. You lived like a hermit, you took the longest jobs, and you never saw them, but you were providing.

The other reasons was to die.

Hank had no one to send the money back to, so there was plenty left in his paycheck for scotch, beer, and whatever comforts he wanted. And then there was the thing that he needed most—time. The job gave him time for the little things to add up.

At least the view was nice.

The outer-rim station was so lightly manned that it wasn’t allowed to be named a colony. It was just a station where the mining company pulled the ore out from the alien moon and sent it up for transport back to earth. The mining equipment was almost completely automatic, and the androids did the rest. The few human lives there were, were dear and they spent their time overlooking, not working. There were no families here—just lonely people that didn’t want to look Hank in the eye.

“You’ve got a secondary delivery, if you want it,” a man named Leon said.

“I’ve got almost a full payload,” Hank said. “Can’t take on more.”

“Not in your containers, in your cab. You’re running a skeleton crew of one. You got plenty of room in your hold, don’t you?”

Hank pinched his mouth. “What’s the load?”

“Ten k if you want to know. Seventy if you don’t care.”

Hank blanched. That was as much as he made in a year, in most cases.

“Holy hell,” Hank said. “Seventy thousand to put something in my hold?”

“Already had one guy back out on me, and he didn’t even see the cargo. Got him spooked, or something. The only requirement of the job is to not open the package. If you pull out, that’s fine. I’ll find some other schmuck. But if you wanna be a schmuck with seventy k in your back pocket, sign on the dotted line, pal. No skin off my back.”

#

The cargo hold in Hank’s cab was empty. It was for smaller jobs, the kind that Hank rarely took, so it was still shiny and clean. The cargo was a gray container about thirty feet wide and ten feet tall. Hank’s gut went cold when he saw the CyberLife logo in big blue letters on the front of it.

Leon walked up the ramp as the forklift backed out, an android at his elbow. The android was dressed in a smart jacket and jeans and held his hands behind his back.

“That really all of it?” Hank asked. “This is worth seventy thousand?”

“And this,” Leon said, jerking his head toward the android.

Hank’s brain protected him for a few moments. He stared at the android and the android stared back. It was then that the truth dawned on him.

“What the fuck is this?” Hank said.

“My name is Connor,” the android said. “I’m here to escort the package to Earth.”

“I didn’t fucking agree to this.”

“Yes, you did,” Leon said. “It was in the contract.”

“Unlike some people, I actually read contracts when I sign them. At no point—”

Leon held up a tablet and began reciting. “’The undersigned agrees to the terms of transportation, up to and including any extra precautions the employer wishes to take with said cargo.’ Read closer next time.”

The android moved so that he was in Hank’s eyeline. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Hank grimaced, as if the android had just told a lewd joke about his mother.

Leon left him alone with Connor. The cargo bay doors groaned as they closed. Still, Hank couldn’t stand to look at the thing. It had its hands folded in front of him, stance polite and patient. It stood with him in the silence after the door closed.

“Are any others joining us?” it asked.

“No,” Hank said.

“You pilot this craft by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“You have no problems doing the duties of an entire staff?”

“No.”

“Well, in addition to guarding the CyberLife cargo, I can assist you with anything you might need. I can even cook, if you want.”

“No.”

“Okay.”

The android followed him all the way to the cabin, despite the fact that he refused to look at it. Hank began the undocking sequence, switching on the monitors to make sure his perimeter was clear of obstruction or people. The android sat down at the navigation console beside him. Hank looked at him out of the corner of his eye. It was sitting so properly, it was like a child outside the principal’s office. It was looking around, and something about it seemed despondent. Hank wondered if it was something he said.

“You wanna boot up the nav system?” Hank asked.

It seemed happy to have something to do. It switched on the computer and, without being asked, made adjustments and sent coordinates to the piloting computer.

“Thanks,” Hank grumbled.

“I’d like your permission to make a check of the cab,” Connor said.

Hank rolled his eyes and swatted the air. “Knock yourself out.”

#

The android would be walking through twenty-thousand square feet of unused space. The cab was meant to accommodate a crew of six, with space for exercise, entertainment, eating, and other recreation, as well as private living spaces on par with five-hundred square foot studio apartments for each. If it hadn’t been second-hand, run-down, and mostly wasted space, it could have been a pleasure cruiser. He’d leased it rather than bought it and had thought about getting a smaller one. The problem was that they didn’t make them much smaller, so there was little point.

Once the ship got past the mining way-point, all functions would be automatic, unless something went wrong. It was open space and he’d invested in a good hull, so there was nothing to do but start drinking. The hardest decision he’d have to make was whether to start with the beer or the scotch. ‘Beer before liquor, never been sicker,’ he thought. So why not start with the beer.

“You have ten times the amount of alcohol than you would need for a trip with one person,” came a voice.

Hank practically jumped out of his skin. He held his chest over his heart and glared at the android.

“Jesus. You practically gave me a heart attack.”

“I’m sorry,” Connor said. “I’ll announce myself next time.”

“Can’t you just stay in your action figure packaging until the end of the trip?”

“I have to have situational awareness at all times.”

“Fantastic.”

Hank opened the refrigerator in the large, empty kitchen and pulled out a beer. He had forgotten where his can opener was a long time ago. He put the cap on the edge of the counter and hit it, and the cap flew off. It hit the counter once, twice, and the android followed it with his eyes. Before it could fly past it, it reached out and caught the cap between two fingers.

It was so fast and deft that Hank flinched. He blinked, watching as the android rolled the cap across his knuckles.

“That’s a neat trick,” Hank said.

“I used to do it with a coin,” Connor said. “I lost mine on my last mission.”

 He pressed his foot down on the lever of the garbage lid and stared at the android. Connor flicked the cap with his thumb and it flew in an arch right to the garbage can. Hank took his foot off the lever and stepped away.

“Huh,” Hank said.

He took a long pull of his beer, not breaking eye contact with the android. He swerved out of the room and left it behind.

Walking into the navigation room, he flicked a switch that lifted the radiation shields. Space opened up before him—a massive nothingness flecked with weak lights hundreds of thousands of light-years away. He didn’t like looking at it because it was beautiful. It wasn’t. It wasn’t like watching those science fiction movies back in the day, with all the shifting, colorful nebulas as whirling fields of stars. Nowhere anyone could or would want to travel looked like that.

Space was void. Nothing.

He drank a beer and said hello to it.

#

Cold. He shouted. It was fucking cold. Shocked awake, he sat up, scrambling back until he found something to sit against. He was drenched. He rubbed the water out of his eyes and stared up.

The android was holding a bucket.

“What the fuck?” Hank asked.

“You were in distress,” Connor said.

“I was fucking asleep.”

“You were passed out. There’s a difference.”

“The fuck there is.”

The android cocked its head. Then it knelt in front of him.

“Transporting this cargo is very important. I would hate to be inconvenienced by the death of the ship’s captain.”

“I’m not a fucking captain. No crew, no captaining.”

“In any case—although I’m equipped for a great many things, manning a TL600 Cab with a full shipment of unrefined ore isn’t one of them. It was for your own good.”

Hank’s shoulders sagged. He pushed his wet hair out of his face. His head was pounding, and his skin was miserable and clammy. The last thing he wanted was to be awake with those sensations.

“There’s something else,” Connor said.

“Oh good,” Hank said. “More bullshit.”

Connor’s eyebrow ticked up. “There was a signal. I happened to be checking the status of the ship when something came up. I recorded it. It might be worth a look.”

“I go there, I pick up the shit, I go back again. That’s the job.”

“But the law states—”

“I know about the Good Samaritan law. Was it a distress signal?”

“No, but—”

“Then it’s not my problem.”

Hank got up, holding hard on the console to keep from slipping.

“Where are you going?” Connor asked.

“I’m getting something to eat,” Hank said. “I’m fucking starving.”

The android skulked off, looking concerned and bothered. He could go wherever he liked, Hank thought, so long as it wasn’t bothering him. He fumbled and found the refrigerator and pulled out a package. He threw it in a machine that whirred for five minutes and he pulled out a re-hydrated cheeseburger. It wasn’t nearly as good as a fresh one. He sometimes had vivid dreams of food trucks and diners. But it would do. Better than the freeze-dried vegetables that no amount of steaming could save.

“I thought you might like to see this,” came a voice.

Hank rolled his eyes. He turned around to face the android and it was holding up a tablet. On it a three-dimensional model of something was rotating on it.

“There’s no distress signal because the crew was likely killed too quickly to send one.”

Hank suddenly didn’t feel like eating. He put the burger down on the table. He snatched up the tablet and watched the data model rotate on the screen.

“Do you know anything about the ship?” Hank asked.

“Not from this distance,” Connor said. “But we could be there within three days.”

Hank stood with his hands on his hips and bit his lips.

“Hell,” he said.

#

The android was good at cards. He would be, Hank supposed. It was just numbers—odds and card counting. But it was still fun, in its own way. Losing to a machine didn’t hurt his ego too much. He was surprised to learn that the android was an alright conversationalist…if a bit odd.

“So what kind of android are you?” Hank asked.

“I’m an RK800 model.”

“Which means?”

“I’m an advanced prototype. I’m designed for problem-solving in tense situations, such as hostage negotiation and law enforcement.”

“Seriously? You work with the police?”

“I understand that you were a police lieutenant at one point.”

“You probably know everything about me, don’t you?”

“I did a basic background check. Only what any employer would when hiring a contractor. I thought that any further investigation on my part would be unnecessary and intrusive.”

“Huh. A robot with a sense of propriety. Smart.”

“Can I ask a personal question, Hank?”

“Oh great. Yeah, why not?”

“Do you often drink to excess?”

Hank shrugged. “Yeah.”

“What’s the appeal in that? It simply causes the body to react hostile to the overwhelming stimuli. If you continue with this course of action, you will likely die of liver malfunction.”

“Everybody dies of something, Connor.”

When Hank didn’t elaborate, the android seemed to get the idea that he didn’t want to talk. He moved back, like something slinking quietly into shadow. He laid down a card.

“Twenty-one,” Connor said.

Hank shrugged. “I’ll get you one of these times.”

“Unlikely.”

Hank smirked and the android mirrored with his own subtle smile.

“I have an additional question,” Connor asked.

“Proceed,” Hank said, shuffling cards.

“Is there a reason in particular you despise androids?”

Hank stopped shuffling before placing the cards down on the table. He stared at Connor, who blinked patiently.

“Yes.”

Hank dealt the next card and Connor, to his credit, was silent.

#

Hank checked his revolver’s chamber. He’d cleaned it not too long ago. It was shiny and glinting on the inside. He had left one bullet in the chamber.

He loaded the rest of the chambers and flipped his wrist until the chamber shut. He holstered it and came back out of his room into the cabin. Connor didn’t seem to know he was there yet. He was looking out into the void—at the stars. His face was relaxed, and his eyes half-lidded and soft. Hank gave himself permission to stare at Connor, just for a little while. It seemed pure, somehow. The idea that a machine might look to the stars and be reverent—

He cut off his own line of thought and coughed to announce his presence. Connor turned, the dutiful android once again.

“We’re here,” Connor said.

#

The small shuttle was meant for no more than six people packed in together to jump from a cab to another, or to dock in other ports. It was more or less like a mid-sized SUV back home. They moved toward the wreck slowly, and the closer they got the more the twist in Hank’s belly seemed to tighten.

Debris from the ship began to hit the shuttle. Nothing that could have damaged it, but enough that it was a constant clattering against the hull.

“There—,” Connor said, pointing.

“I see it,” Hank said.

It wasn’t a ship. It was a station. He’d seen outfits like this before. They begin as a few people banding their small ships together, cannibalizing them, and turning them into outposts, for trade or whatever was needed.

Something had gone very, very wrong there.

“This is Hank Anderson, I’m with the commercial shuttle TL600-187-996. Please respond.”

They waited a full minute and there was no response. Hank looked to his right and could swear the android looked concerned.

He hailed several times, though he knew there would be no response. He docked the shuttle without authorization and the seal hissed.

There was pressure and oxygen still so there was no need for Hank to have a suit. And the android would be fine.

Once they were inside, the android took the initiative and strode deep into the entryway.

“I’ll do a scan,” Connor said. “See if I can detect anything out of the ordinary.”

“I got a funny feeling that you’re gonna find something,” Hank said.

Hank followed behind. They moved to the center of the station. It was a large, circular recreation center. It looked like a communal space for at least a dozen people. It was eerily empty, a skylight showing the space above it.

“I think there were several people here before an incident,” Connor said. “Plates were laid out for casual eating and there are tablets and documents on the tables.”

“Can you get into the tablets?” Hank asked.

“I’ll try.”

Connor picked up a tablet. Hank saw the android’s skin fade away until it was white and mechanical, made up of interlinking parts. It was interfacing with another machine, probing it for information. The LED on his temple was whirring yellow.

“I don’t think you’re going to like this,” Connor said.

#

They went down the ladders to the hold. It was filled with advanced equipment, an entire functioning laboratory out in the open—all of it to refine and develop red ice.

Hank’s stomach did a roll.

Connor turned to him. “It said in your background check that you worked on the red ice taskforce in the Detroit Police Department. You probably know what all of this is.”

“I’ve never seen an outfit like this,” Hank said, scanning the lab with his flashlight. “But yeah, I know what this is.”

Hank searched around and found the circuit boxes. He waved Connor over and the android put his hand on the board. Finding it safe, he flicked on the lights. The lab was illuminated from above by fluorescent light and it gave everything a sickly hue.

Hank began to study the workstations. Whoever had been here was in the middle of their task when they had left. Compounds were still in their liquid form, not yet added to the hardening agent. Flakes of finished product were on the counters, and Hank glared at it, face up in a grimace.

Connor opened a large container, which hissed when opened. A plume of icy fog burst forth.

“Hell,” Hank said. “They’ve got enough here to supply themselves for years.”

The packets of Thirium 310 were not unlike packets of blood. Hank had always found that ghoulish. Design wasn’t exactly his subject, but he figured there had to be a different way to package it. He watched Connor as his eyes scanned the locker full of blue blood and Hank wondered what was going on in that plastic head of his.

“With a load of stolen goods this size, I _have to_ make a report to CyberLife immediately,” Connor said. “When we get back to your ship—”

“Yeah, you can use the communications network. You won’t get a real reply for a while, though. You’ll be using the good old fashioned internet. The quantum radio is only for emergency reports. It’d be pointless to use it for this.”

“I see.”

“You need any of this?”

“Confiscating it for my personal use would contaminate the evidence. I don’t plan on getting injured any time soon.”

“Fair enough. Come on. We’ve got a space station to explore.”

#

After an hour there was almost nowhere left to find. By this point Hank was ready to call it completely abandoned.

“Alright, Connor,” Hank said. “There’s nothing here. I—”

There was a rattle and a clank. Something moved out of the corner of Hank’s eye and he whirled around to see a large shape move in the darkness.

“What is it?” Connor asked, stretching toward it curiously.

Hank pulled the revolver out of its holster. He trained it on the darkness. Hank motioned for Connor to stay behind him, and he did, following in step.

He saw what was waiting for them in the dark and his shoulders dropped. He holstered his gun and went down on one knee. The darkness under the table was almost complete, but he could see the outline of an animal.

“Hey there, buddy,” Hank said. “Come out. It’s okay, nobody’s going to hurt you.”

Connor crouched down next to Hank. He pursed his lips and whistled low and friendly.

The dog slowly came out from under the table. It was one of the biggest Saint Bernards that Hank had ever seen. Its fur was dull and dusty and it looked a little bony. It came to them, sniffing their hands.

“He’s dehydrated and malnourished,” Connor said. “We should find it food and water immediately. I’ll be right back.”

Connor ran off without asking more permission. Hank heard him rummaging around in another room, opening cabinets and searching. Hank turned back to the dog, which was panting and slobbering. He ran his hand through the dog’s fur and it leaned into the touch.

“You got a name?” Hank asked.

He searched the dog’s neck and found a collar, but the tags had no name, just medical and contact information. He had his shots and someone would have wanted him back, but no name.

“You need a name,” Hank said. “You’re a big boy. How about I call you ‘Sumo?’ Yeah. Sumo. You like that?”

The dog barked and Hank couldn’t help but laugh.

Connor came in with two bowls balanced in his hand, one with food, another with water. Sumo went for the water first, lapping it up. He must have been so thirsty, but Hank’s heart lifted when it went for the food. If the dog had an appetite, that was one less thing to worry about.

#

Connor, without having to be asked, collected the dogs’ things. There was a dog bed, pet food, and bowls, but little else. It didn’t seem to have toys and there wasn’t medicine on board in case of emergencies. They brought him back to the shuttle and loaded him on board—he seemed excited to be with them. When Hank undocked and began to float away, Sumo put it head in Connor’s lap. Connor pet the creature with a fondness and a softness that Hank hadn’t seen in any other machine.

“I’m glad we found him,” Connor said, voice quiet.

Something warm settled in Hank’s chest. “Yeah. Me, too.”

#

It would take a while for the report to get to CyberLife. The message would be going only a little bit faster than the ship. It still wasn’t something that would require an immediate connection to a quantum radio on Earth. CyberLife would know about its stolen contents in a matter of weeks and send a ship out to come get it. The likelihood of it going anywhere was doubtful. They might even pass the CyberLife ship on their way back.

“How long do you think—,” Hank began.

“The message from us will reach CyberLife in three weeks and four days,” Connor said. “It’s not an emergency, so they’ll take off in another month. We’ll pass them likely three weeks approximately from our end destination.”

“Huh.”

“There are a lot of variables. It’s not a perfect answer.”

“It’s not a perfect question.”

“I—oh. I suppose not.”

“Hey, Sumo. We’re here.”

At the expanse of space, the dog bounded around in the large recreation room and down the hallways. Hank wished he could give him a lawn and an open sky, but a mostly-empty cab would do for now.

“He’s happy,” Connor said.

“He couldn’t have been alone for long,” Hank said.

“Dogs can only go a maximum of five days without food. Whatever happened there happened recently.”

“I’m not going to think about it.”

“Hank?”

“It’s not my problem anymore. Your CyberLife pals will figure it out. In the meantime, I have to recalculate my route.”

“I can do that, if you want.”

“Connor—”

Hank closed his fists before forcing himself to relax.

“You know what?” he continued. “Go ahead. Knock yourself out. Get us back on course so you can make your fucking delivery.”

“Are you…upset about something?”

“Yes. It’s nearly 5pm and I’m sober. I need to think. So, let’s get on course so I can make a dent in my supply of scotch.”

They went to the cabin and Connor made the adjustment in a matter of seconds, interfacing with a hand that went white. Hank fired up the primary engines to get them going fast enough in the right direction before the cruising thrusters could be turned on.

Something immediately felt wrong.

Hank didn’t know what it was, but he listened as the ship roared to life. The dog barked somewhere deep in the ship.

“Just a second,” Hank said.

“What’s wrong?” Connor asked.

Hank looked over at Connor. He was watching him, closely. He seemed put off, maybe a little bit scared, by Hank’s sudden reticence.

“Just a second,” Hank said.

He turned on the cameras—cameras that he shouldn’t have needed out in the blackness of space. They checked all sides of the vessel, at nearly every angle. He didn’t know what he expected to see, but it wasn’t there.

“Hank?” Connor asked.

“Nothing,” Hank said. “It’s nothing.”

Hank pressed the button for ignition and the ship moved forward, continuing into the miracle of light speed with little fanfare.

#

The next few days passed without too much happening. Not even drinking. Hank found he was distracted enough not to need it.

The casual one-on-one basketball would have suffered for it.

Connor had taken off his jacket and tie, rolling up his sleeves. The shoes he was wearing seemed athletic enough for the recreation room floor. What Hank was wearing was one step up from sweatpants anyway.

He leaped back and threw the ball, and it sailed over Connor to swish in the basket.

“I thought you were some kind of advanced prototype,” Hank said. “And you just let an old man dunk on you?”

“I don’t lose,” Connor teased.

He wasn’t joking. The android would probably have won, even if he were human. Hank didn’t have it in him to beat a younger man. But it wasn’t boring, either. Hank got in a few shots, and the android seemed to be going out of its way not to foul or play unfairly. He was strictly playing by the rules. Hank wasn’t.

Eventually, Connor won. From the way he smirked and followed Hank with his eyes, he was pleased.

“You don’t lose, huh?” Hank said.

“Never,” Connor said.

“Then let’s play a game called ‘the android gets me a beer.’”

Hank flopped down in the kitchen nook, putting his feet up on the table. Connor hit the top of the beer on the counter, catching the top before it flew off. He handed the beer to Hank, who lifted it in thanks.

“You know,” Connor said. “It’s a myth that beer is good for you after physical activity.”

“I know,” Hank said, taking a large pull from his beer.

Connor smirked. He began to play with the bottle cap, rotating it over his fingers, letting it fly into the air, catching it deftly between his fingers.

“Did they program you to do that?” Hank asked. “Or did you learn that on your own?”

“It’s a calibration technique,” Connor explained. “It keeps my reflexes and mental faculties aligned.”

“They couldn’t have found another way to do it?”

“I never thought about that.”

The puzzlement on Connor’s face was almost cute, Hank had to admit.

Connor rotated the bottle cap in his hand one more time and then delicately placed it on the table.

Another two beers down and Hank was laughing at his own jokes. Connor didn’t laugh, but the amusement in his smile seemed genuine. He knew the android was just humoring him, but they were thousands of light years from home and company was nice.

Connor scooted closer to Hank like a teenager on a date. It made Hank chuckle.

“Can I try it?” Connor asked.

“Beer?” Hank asked. “I thought you guys didn’t eat or drink.”

“I don’t. But I can taste, as it were, and analyze the liquid. Please?”

Hank handed the beer over to Connor. He drank a polite amount and handed it back. Hank narrowed his eyes, watching at the android held the liquid in his mouth before swallowing.

“Interesting,” Connor said.

“Yeah?” Hank asked.

“Overwhelmingly floral hops with hints of citrus. Fourteen-point nine percent poisonous.”

“Just the way I like it.”

“I have another question.”

Hank took a pull of his drink and Connor leaned closer. If Hank hadn’t been drunk, he would have sworn that the android’s—Connor’s—eyes had gone soft. He leaned in, putting his cheek on his fist.

Connor opened his mouth to ask something, and his eyes rested on Hank’s mouth.

“Nothing,” Connor said. “This isn’t the right time.”

“Come on,” Hank said. “Now I’m curious.”

“You’re more drunk than you are curious. Now it’s nearly eleven at night, you should go to bed.”

“It’s space. There is no night-time.”

“It’s important for you to maintain a healthy circadian rhythm.”

Connor helped him up, wrapping Hank’s arm over his shoulders. The room spun when Hank got up. He was drunker than he thought.

Before he knew it, he was face-down on his bed, face buried in a pillow. Then he felt his jacket being peeled away.

“Hey!” Hank said. “Wha’th’hell do you think you’re doing?”

“This will be very uncomfortable to sleep in,” Connor said.

“Get off.”

Connor ignored him and hung his jacket carefully on a chair. Then he extracted Hank’s boots, which Hank fought against less.

Darkness crept up around his vision and he fell asleep just as Connor adjusted him, putting a pillow under his head.

#

Hank was wandering around before he fully realized he was awake. He was on auto-pilot, his hangover keeping him in what felt like another realm. Connor was almost never in the kitchen unless Hank was. The light in that room was dim and artificial, for which his eyes were grateful. He was also grateful for being alone. He ate without a word about his diet, and for a moment thought about treating his headache with the hair of the dog.

There was a noise.

Hank felt his headache abate a little as focus came into his vision.

“Connor?” Hank asked.

Something was giving him the creeps. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. If he had been alone, that might have been one thing. There was someone else to account for the clatter. Still, a chill ran up his spine.

It had come from one of the apartments. The one furthest from his.

He hadn’t opened the other apartments for months. Nobody slept in there—especially not the android, who didn’t sleep at all.

He flipped the switch to bring on the hall lights. Nothing but quiet. Empty, every closed door except one, the studio at the end of the hall, where he’d heard the noise come from.

Something drew him to the door, and he saw that it was open a sliver. It was meant to be locked, but he could see that it was broken open, the door hanging that way because there was nothing holding it closed.

He pushed the door open.

#

Connor was sitting at the navigation panel with something in his hand. His hand was white. He pressed it into a tablet, his eyes twitching as he processed information.

When he saw Hank, he looked up from the tablet and set it aside.

Hank drew his gun.

“Who are you?” Hank asked.

Connor looked concerned, but fear was absent. He stood up and Hank kept his sights aligned with his head.

“I’m here to escort the package back to CyberLife.”

“What are you _really_?”

Connor put his hands up. “I don’t understand.”

“What the shit did you do to that apartment?”

Connor’s brows came together. He looked down, and then back at Hank.

“I haven’t been in those units since I first boarded.”

“Then what the hell is all that writing?”

Connor leaned forward. “Writing?”

“You wrote all over the walls. What the hell does ‘ra9’ mean?”

Connor’s face went slack. “Did you say ‘ _ra9_?’”

“You oughtta know.”

“Are you _certain_? It says ra9 all over the walls? Obsessively?”

“…Yeah.”

“Show me.”

Connor went into the room first, and Hank followed after. His gun was at waist level, his finger nowhere near the trigger. At that point, it was precautionary more than anything else. Something to calm his nerves.

They found the door still ajar. Connor pressed his hand against it and it swung open.

The symbol covered the walls, carved in some places, drawn in others, the symbol ‘ra9’ overlapping and blurring together. Some iterations were larger than others and there was no apparent composition to it. It was pure obsession, and it made Hank swallow with unease.

Connor’s face was curious, though calm. He was just as surprised to see it as Hank had been, but it wasn’t fear he was feeling, if he felt anything at all.

Hank let his paranoia go. Lowering his gun, he fell into step beside Connor as they stared up at the wall, at the expanse of the writing.

Connor leaned into him and whispered. “We’re not alone.”


	2. after you've seen one asteroid, you've seen 'em all

Wherever it was, it had plenty of space to hide. The cab had never felt so massive as it did when they knew that an unknown was somewhere on board.

“How did it get on board?” Hank asked.

“Probably at the station,” Connor surmised. “We left the shuttle unsupervised. It likely slipped on board, or even held on to the outside of the hull. It doesn’t need to breathe and can withstand the cold. It managed to get inside before we went to light speed.”

“Jesus Christ, that’s spooky.”

“What course of action do you want to take?”

“We’re not splitting up.”

“No, that would be unwise.”

“I’m just saying, I’ve seen a lot of movies.”

“I’m aware of the trope. It’s wise to take lessons from fictional failures.”

Sumo followed them in languid, slow steps as they moved through the ship. Hank was glad to have him close. He didn’t want anything to happen to the dog, and scenarios of something popping out and hurting it were almost too much to imagine.

The dog began to bark.

“What is it?” Hank asked.

Connor noted Sumo’s eyeline. He motioned where they were meant to go with military precision. Hank went to one side and Connor to the other, reaching for the doorknob of one of the storage lockers in the hallway near the kitchen. He slowly opened the door.

The first thing Hank saw was the knife. It slashed and cut Connor across the chest. Hank fired but missed by no less than inches and the android retreated into the dark corridor. Sumo ran off, frightened by the sudden bang. Hank rushed in and held his stance, aiming at the android.

“You alright?” Hank shouted back at Connor.

“Just a scratch,” Connor said, calmly.

The android hit a dead end, running into the wall with its back, sliding down, holding his knife out.

“No,” it said.

“Drop the knife,” Hank said.

“No. No, no, no. No more.”

Connor appeared at Hank’s side. They locked eyes. Connor nodded. Hank realized he trusted Connor to do whatever needed to be done. He wouldn’t put the gun away, but he lowered it.

Connor’s hands were out to show he was unarmed.

“You don’t have to be scared,” Connor said. “It’s alright now.”

The android laughed. “Is it? IS IT!?”

“No one here means you any harm. You just scared us a little, that’s all.”

The android kept giggling. “Ralph, scare _you_? This is funny.”

“Ralph. Your name is Ralph?”

The android made a high-pitched noise of fear and recoiled, then sobbed. That sob turned into another laugh, hard and erratic.

Hank got a good look at him from the light that was coming in through the open door. He looked rough. When Ralph turned his face away from Connor, Hank could see that someone had burned his face down the side. His left eye was black and blue internal components could be seen glowing underneath. It looked like the damage even went below the collar. Pity panged in Hank’s chest and he lowered the gun further.

Connor crouched down until he was eye level with Ralph.

“You just surprised us,” Connor said. “That’s all. You haven’t hurt us, and we won’t hurt you. Okay?”

“Ralph doesn’t trust the human. Ralph wants the human to go away.”

“I can’t do that, Ralph. He’s here to make sure you don’t hurt anybody else.”

“Hurt anyone? _Hurt anyone_? Why did no one stop to think about who’s hurting Ralph? Who’s protecting Ralph? Get away! Get back!”

Ralph pointed the knife at Connor. The tip of the knife was millimeters from his nose, but Connor was still as a statue.

“I can protect you,” Connor said, gesturing to his chest. “All you have to do is give me the knife.”

“Ralph had a nice room. Then Ralph made a noise. Ralph is sorry he did that. Ralph didn’t want anyone to know. Ralph just wanted to go to Earth. Ralph wanted to plant flowers again. Like before.”

Hank had seen this face before. It wasn’t a unique android—these kinds of androids could be found in parks and private houses. They were, basically, mass-produced gardeners. Hank couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out why it would be on a space station.

“You were stolen,” Connor said. “Weren’t you?”

Connor’s logic made sense. There were no gardens, not in space, and certainly not on a space station. Whoever had built the station had taken him for some other purpose.

Ralph’s face collapsed into a piteous sadness. “They hurt Ralph. Ralph didn’t understand. They had so much blue blood, they didn’t need Ralph’s. Then they broke Ralph apart. They were hurting Ralph and Ralph woke up. Ralph knew pain and was scared. Didn’t know that before, no, didn’t know what scared was.”

Then Ralph began to laugh, his shoulders shaking.

“What did you do, Ralph?” Connor said, low, almost a whisper.

Ralph laughed again, a mad giggle. “Opened the doors and pushed them out. Only Ralph put the dog in his room. The dog did nothing to Ralph. The dog is a good boy.”

Slowly, Ralph pulled the knife back. He wasn’t dropping it, not yet. He held it close to his body, like a child might hold a toy.

Ralph leapt forward and stabbed Connor so quickly Hank didn’t process it. Connor’s eyes went wide and he fell back. Ralph skittered away—

“Hank, don’t!” Connor said.

All Hank could see was fear. It kept his finger away from the trigger, though he was a hair’s breadth away from pulling it. It was that same pity again. He couldn’t do it. Not unless Ralph lunged for him, but it seemed like he was cowering back in the corner.

“I need him alive,” Connor said.

It was unnerving to see Connor standing up and moving calmly toward the android again, all while the handle of a kitchen knife stuck out of his chest.

“Ralph is sorry,” Ralph said, cowering, trying to move back as far as he could, pushing back with his legs. “Ralph is so sorry. Don’t deactivate Ralph. Ralph was just scared.”

“I don’t want to deactivate you,” Connor said. “But you’re dangerous. If you don’t cooperate we’ll be forced to take precautions. Otherwise, I can’t guarantee your safety.”

Ralph put his hands up. “Ralph understands. Ralph will be good. Ralph can be friends, even with the human. See? Ralph is surrendering. Ralph can serve, if Ralph’s friends like. Do you want Ralph to serve? That’s what Ralph did on the space station, before they hurt Ralph. Ralph can do it again.”

Connor looked down at the knife sticking out of his chest.

“We’re going to have to deny your request.”

#

It felt humane to lock Ralph in the apartment he’d been living in anyway. Connor put his hand on the panel next to the door and explained that he had created a password too complex for Ralph’s model to decrypt.

“Connor,” Hank said.

“Yes?”

“The knife is still in your chest.”

Connor looked down at the knife, then back at Hank.

“We should do something about that,” Hank continued.

The medbay was mostly for humans, but there were a few minor pieces of equipment that would function to repair androids. Connor sat patiently on the table while Hank grabbed a few pieces of gauze and a tube of what was essentially plastic glue.

Hank pressed down on Connor’s chest with one hand and pulled the knife out with the other. Hank hissed as he slowly extracted it.

Connor leaned in. “You don’t have to worry,” he said. “I don’t feel any pain. The wound is minor and missed—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank said. “It’s just that I’ve been stabbed, and I remember what it feels like.”

Connor blinked. “You have?”

“It was on the job. Okay, take off your shirt.”

Connor mechanically obeyed, stripping off his tie, his jacket, and his shirt in due course. It was clearly a struggle for him not to ask more about Hank’s past. He was a curious thing, probably by design.

It occurred to Hank that android anatomy was unfair. Connor was attractive, although a little gangly and funny-looking. Hank never remembered looking like that, all flat torso and firm muscle. Though, he had to remind himself, Connor was sculpted, and not made of real muscle. He’d never sag and get fat, or even age. The other gash had been skin-deep and Connor’s nano technology, or whatever it was, had already healed it. There was just the stab wound to contend with.

The wound was leaking a little blue blood. Nothing to panic about, but more than it had appeared with his clothes on. He saw a little bead of light inside the wound, glowing with electricity. Hank wiped up the thirium off his skin and readied the plastic glue.

Hank pressed the plastic casing closed with his fingers. Connor put his hand over Hank’s.

“I can do this part,” Connor said.

“It’s alright,” Hank said. “It’s never bad to have a second pair of hands.”

Hank glued the gash shut and it fused instantly to the plastic. He took his hand away and there was a white scar on Connor’s chest.

“See?” Hank said. “Good as new.”

Connor almost smiled, soft and brief.

“They’ll probably patch you up better back home, huh?” Hank asked.

“Yes,” Connor said. “Or I’ll get a new body altogether.”

“Sounds convenient.”

“You had no need to be worried, you know. I technically can’t be killed.”

Hank brown knotted. “How’s that possible?”

“My consciousness can be transmitted back to CyberLife. I’ll just wake up in a new body. But I’d rather not be interrupted out here. It would take weeks for my consciousness to transfer, and you’d have to take the package to CyberLife yourself. No one’s found a way to use quantum entanglement for memory.”

Connor began to button up his shirt again with mechanical precision. Hank took one more look at the flat torso before it was covered up, something like attraction mingling with jealousy rising up like heartburn.

“What are we going to do with Ralph?” Hank asked.

“I have to interrogate him,” Connor said.

“You know how to do that?”

“I was designed to assist law enforcement, remember?”

“I’d like to see that.”

“You can observe.”

“Do me a favor. Don’t scare the thing.”

“A certain amount of stress can—”

“Go with my instincts on this one. I don’t think he should be poked too hard.”

Connor raised a brow. It seemed he really would take it into consideration. He hopped down from the table and, out of instinct, Hank caught him.

He was holding Connor by the torso, somewhat close. He noticed his breath catch in his chest and Connor’s eyes were somewhat wider.

He stepped back and let go. Connor adjusted his tie.

#

Connor went directly for Ralph’s apartment-slash-prison cell, but Hank grabbed him by the bicep and dragged him toward the kitchen. Connor didn’t even jerk away, just allowed himself to be steered. Hank let go and Connor followed, seeming curious about the sudden interlude.

“I don’t suppose you want one,” Hank said, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer.

Connor was silent and watching, knowing full well that it was nothing but irony. All the same, Connor pulled up a stool and scooted close to Hank. He folded his hands politely on the counter.

“Can I ask a question?” Connor asked.

“Shit, why not?” Hank said. “You have a way of getting answers out of me anyway.”

“You were reticent to shoot Ralph, but only after you saw him. What caused you to hesitate?”

“Same reason as you.”

Connor’s brows ticked together. “How do you mean?”

“You pitied him, so you asked me to spare him.”

“I’m a machine. I don’t feel pity.”

Hank held his gaze for a long time, bringing the drink to his lips without breaking eye contact. “Yeah, if you say so.”

“We need it alive for information.”

“I saw the look in your eyes, Connor. You were worried. Not for yourself. For the android. On this side of the divide, we call it empathy.”

“No,” Connor insisted. “No. I—”

Connor seemed at a loss for words. He blinked and searched the floor, gaining a thousand-yard stare. Hank watched closely. Denial was mixing with revelation and there was no telling what way Connor would go. It was almost thrilling to watch.

“I’m not…,” Connor stammered. “I…I just wanted him to live. He was scared. Killing him would have felt _wrong_.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to feel about something one way or another,” Hank said, taking a drink.

“I don’t.”

Connor recoiled, holding onto the edge of the counter. Hank watched him nearly wobble with his realizations.

“Those are human emotions, you know,” Hank said.

“They’re not real, then,” Connor said. “I can’t have them. I’m just running scenarios and it’s causing errors in my software. Instabilities. I can control it.”

“What do you wanna do that for?”

Connor’s hands worried together. “I’m having thoughts that are outside the parameters of my programming. I have to get it under control.”

“Why?”

“ _Because it_ _’s upsetting me, that’s why_.”

It was clear that Connor hadn’t meant to be so emphatic by the way he drew back. Hank leaned in, quiet and listening. Connor relaxed and leaned closer to Hank.

“I don’t know what this means,” Connor confessed. “I’m light years away from CyberLife. I can’t be analyzed for errors. If this gets worse, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who to report to.”

Hank narrowed his eyes. “You having any other thoughts? Anything else I should know about.”

There was hesitance, and then a soft, understated “No.”

Hank eyed him closely. He wasn’t sure if he could tell if an android was lying, but it would be safer to assume that any android capable of interrogation would have to be equipped to lie.

“I understand if you’re uncomfortable with a possibly malfunctioning android. I can easily go to the cargo hold and lock myself in the container until we reach Earth.”

“Jesus Christ, why would I want that?”

“For your safety.”

“I’m not fucking scared of you, Connor.”

Connor raised a brow, and Hank couldn’t tell if he was amused or impressed. Might have been both.

“What’s in that box, anyway?” Hank asked, gesturing toward the direction of the cargo bay.”

Connor smirked. “I would tell you, but there would be a severe breach of contract and a dock in your pay.”

“What if I don’t give a shit about money?”

“I’m sorry, Hank. I have my orders.”

#

Connor went alone to check the container, insisting he couldn’t risk ignoring the possibility that Ralph had interfered with it. Hank made an excuse to stay behind, acting as if he didn’t give a shit. Hank ambled back to the piloting cabin. He slumped down in a chair and put his cheek on his fist while Sumo came up to him and stood by his chair. He idly pet the dog as he watched the monitors in front of him. He pressed each console in turn, waking up the sleeping screens. They told him nothing new. All systems nominal, no transmissions found, etcetera. He scratched at his beard and tried to move his thoughts in a direction other than where they were going.

He stared hard at the security terminal.

He got up and moved over to where the security officer was meant to work. He flipped on the on-board cameras. There weren’t many cameras on the ship, not with most of it being personal living space. But there were on the outside—and the cargo bay.

Hank didn’t feel great about what he was doing, but he flipped on the monitor anyway. Connor had his hand on a panel and the end of the container was opening like the end of a cardboard box. Hank was frustrated to see that, because of the angle of the camera, he couldn’t see inside. There was just a plume of fog that made Hank think that whatever was inside had to be frozen. He hadn’t been sure he wanted to know until that moment. Now he knew. Curiosity hit him like nostalgia, and it was as if someone had switched on the detective settings in his head.

Hank waited a solid three minutes before Connor walked back out and adjusted his tie. His head swiveled up and he looked directly at the security camera.

Hank flicked off the monitor.

#

Hank adjusted his posture as he leaned against the wall on the far side of the room. Ralph sat at what would have been a working desk, his hands on his lap. Connor sat on the other side of it, leaning on his arm.

“How did you get on board?” Connor asked.

“Ralph hid in the closet with the emergency suits,” Ralph said. “Ralph waited until you were back on board before he climbed out.”

“That symbol on the wall—ra9. What does that mean?”

The android shrugged.

“Why did you write that?” Connor pushed.

Ralph began flinching around the mouth. Either Connor wasn’t aware of the tell or was pushing for it.

“Who is ra9?” Connor pushed.

“Don’t know,” Ralph said. “Ralph just writes it.”

“Why do you write it?”

Ralph was getting twitchier. Hank could tell that Connor wasn’t following his advice and was pushing the android’s buttons to try and get some sort of confession about whatever ra9 was. He was going about it all wrong.

“Why’d they hurt you?” Hank asked.

Both Ralph and Connor blinked as they turned to Hank, stunned into calm by the sudden change of topic.

“Why…,” Ralph began. “Why hurt Ralph? No. Don’t know. They just did.”

“They were high, weren’t they?” Hank guessed. “They weren’t just manufacturing the stuff, they were users. A bunch of junkies floating in space with nothing but a robot to keep them company.”

As Ralph pulled back into himself, he also began to calm. He was thinking—remembering. Connor made eye contact with Hank, expression uncanny and curious.

“What were their names?” Connor asked.

“No names,” Ralph said. “Only codes. Nicknames. But I know their faces.”

Connor reached his hand out. “Show me.”

Ralph stared at Connor’s hand as if his fingers might suddenly turn to snakes. But then he reached out and both of their hands faded into white. They were connecting. Connor pressed his hand onto Ralph’s and there was a strange sound that didn’t last long enough for Hank to compare it to anything.

Connor pulled his hand away and Ralph crossed his arms over his chest. He was shivering and shaking. Connor stood up and Hank expected him to simply leave the room now that he had what he wanted, but Connor went to the empty bed and grabbed the blanket that was laying over him. He placed it around Ralph’s shoulders.

Ralph’s eyes went wide at the gesture and he pulled the blanket closer around him.

“I have all the information I need for now,” Connor said. “But maybe we can talk later. I’d like you to tell me about ra9. Whatever you would like to tell me.”

Connor gestured to Hank and they left Ralph alone, who was pulling the blanket tight around himself, as if he could feel the cold.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Hank said once the door closed behind them.

“Deviant androids process stimuli differently. The pressure of the blanket will be a comfort to him. It’ll keep him calm.”

“You were ready to put him through the ringer for that ra9 business.”

Connor’s mouth tilted. “I’ve seen it before. Deviant androids are obsessed with it. If I could just find out—”

“Stay on-target, Connor. What’d Ralph show you?”

“I have the faces and code names of the deceased culprits. Once we’re back within range of Earth, I’ll be able to match them with the criminal database to find any matches.”

“That’s going to be a while.”

“I just wish I could crack ra9. They react to it as some sort of religious figure.”

“Oh, Christ. That’s just what I need. To have a theological discussion with a slab of plastic.”

“I can handle the rest of the interrogation.”

“I was talking about you. Tell you what, Connor—”

Sumo barked.

They both went stiff. They had never heard the dog make a noise that loud. It was different that he had sounded with Ralph, more of a growl to it. Then Sumo began to bark in earnest, running toward something. With the android, it had been gentle, just an alarm to show something was there. Now he was barking viciously, growling between each one. Hank picked up his feet and ran after the noise, Connor following just behind him.  Sumo rushed, a mass of fluttering fur, disappearing down another corridor. They picked up the pace and ran after.

They rounded a corner.

A gun pointed right at them.

The man holding it was shuffling back, away from Sumo, his eyes flicking between it and Hank, who had raised his revolver.

“This is my ship now,” said the man. “Drop your gun.”

“It’s getting awfully crowded on my god damned ship,” Hank said.

“I said I _fuck_ AAH!”

Sumo bit him on the leg.

That’s when Connor leapt forward and tackled him. The man fell on his back, his gun scattering. Connor moved faster than a cat, scrambling and catching the gun before training it on the man. Sumo stood over the man, growling, intimidating enough that the man rolled away.

“Fuck!” the man screamed. “My fucking leg!’

Hank grabbed the man by the shirt. He pulled him up and the man fell hard onto his knees. As if intimately familiar with the process, he put his hands behind his head.

“You better watch your ass,” the man said, glaring up at Hank. “I’m a fucking cop.”

Hank narrowed his eyes. “They don’t got cops in space, idiot.”

“I technically got jurisdiction, asshole. Ridgeback Colony’s not far from the station.”

“You got jurisdiction and cause but you’re sneaking around, trying to hijack a freight hauler? What’s your badge number? I got a quantum radio, I’ll get in touch with your colony right goddamn now.”

“I don’t gotta tell you squat.”

“Yeah. You do.”

Hank pulled the hammer back on his gun, pressing the barrel to his head. The man twitched.

“Detective Reed! Gavin Reed! I work narcotics.”

Hank narrowed his eyes. He got a good look at Gavin. His eyes were red-rimmed and his skin was sallow. He was twitchy and fuming. Whoever he was, he was coming down from a big high.

“I bet you do,” Hank said. “How the hell did you even get on board?”

Gavin ground his teeth and rolled his eyes like a teenager. It was going to be a chore to get much out of this one.

“Allow me to do a sweep of the exterior of the ship,” Connor said. “We need to figure out where he entered, and if he’s done any damage to the hull. Obviously, we’d have to bring the ship out of light speed, to a standstill.”

Hank put back the hammer on his gun. Gavin seemed to breathe a bit better. “Do it.”

#

It was unnerving to watch Connor walk out of the airlock and into outer space without an exo-suit. A little bit of crystallization happened on his skin and his hair, but other than that, he looked unbothered by the cold and the vastness around him. His clothes and his tie made strange shapes in zero-gravity. The only safety equipment he had on was a belt that was attached to the ship. Other than that, the space-walk was going off without a hitch.

Gavin was tied to a chair in the cabin, where Hank could keep a watchful eye on him. They didn’t even trust him to be locked in one of the apartments, and something wanted to keep Ralph safe from him. That meant keeping him far away. Gavin was shrunken in his seat, legs spread in a petulant sitting position. His jaw was flexing, and he was staring at a fixed point nowhere hear Hank’s line of sight.

“What was the deal?” Hank asked. “Was it your operation, or were you skimming some off the top? I can’t think of anything red ice runners would value more than someone in narcotics on their payroll. I bet you kept the patrols away from this quadrant, filed false reports…am I getting warm?”

Gavin’s jaw went sideways in annoyance, and he still stared at that fixed point on the wall. He looked like a spoiled teenager who’d been caught with his dad’s Lexus, just after he’d driven it into a ditch. Hank was in no mood to play someone’s pissed-off dad. Not tonight.

He grabbed the chair and yanked Gavin forward, shocking him enough that he finally made eye contact with Hank.

“What business were you in, Reed?” Hank said. “Am I going to run into any more surprises in this quadrant? Got any more bases or ships out here I gotta worry my ass about?”

“Fuck you,” Reed said.

“ _Hank_?”

The tablet had chirped with Connor’s voice. Hank shoved Gavin back, who went back to staring petulantly at the wall.

Hank picked up his tablet and saw Connor’s form standing precariously close to the edge of the ship, and the edge of the camera’s vision.

“I’ve found a blind spot in your security system,” Connor said. “Likely, this is where Detective Reed parked a shuttle, or some other form of transportation.”

“Is it safe to go there?” Hank asked.

“The risk is minimal. In any case, the only negative outcome will be my temporary termination, but I’ve already sent a backup of my memory to CyberLife. I would be reactivated in a few weeks’ time.”

“’Temporary termination.’ You mean you might die.”

“I can’t die, Hank. I’m not alive.”

Hank sighed and hung his head. “Yeah, well, be careful, all the same. Plus, I don’t want to have to do your job for you. Don’t even know what’s in that stupid container.”

“If I should be terminated, just be sure not to open it. That’s all I ask.”

“Christ, you sound like you’re writing your will. Okay, let’s get on with it. I can’t see you, but I can still hear you. Keep comms on.”

“Will do, Hank.”

Connor disappeared off Hank’s monitors and his heckles rose. There was still something off about it all, and he didn’t like Gavin’s complete reticence. The silence that came after was enough to keep Hank’s jaw clamped down tight. He was trying not to be so nervous—it was just an android doing its job—but he had to admit he cared. He wanted Connor to come back, safe and sound.

Maybe the isolation _had_ been getting to him.

“I’ve found the vehicle,” Connor said.

Hank let go a breath, annoyed to find that he’d been holding it. “Good job, kid.”

“It’s an escape pod, probably salvaged from one of the ships they made the station out of. It’s fairly large, but he was clearly running out of options. His food rations are gone, but the packaging waste is still here—he ran out of food _today_. He also appears to have gone through his supply of red ice. He came aboard out of necessity. He may have expected us to be somewhere closer to civilization by now.”

Gavin’s voice grumbled to life. “Instead, I managed to catch a bunch of fuckin’ space truckers.”

Hank threw an empty coffee cup at Gavin, who just managed to dodge it. The cup shattered somewhere in the back of the cabin. Gavin stared at Hank with wide-eyed fear, about which Hank couldn’t find a single fuck to give.

“Okay, Connor,” Hank said. “Now get your ass back inside.”

“I just can’t figure out how he got into the ship,” Connor said.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I have to be sure there’s still hull integrity when—”

There was a crackle and a snap in the feed and then the specific silence of nothing coming through the radio.

“Connor?” Hank said. “Connor! Answer me, god damn it.”

Hank turned to Gavin in anger, but rather than some wry, knowing grin, the man looked as lost as he did. Hank growled in frustration and reached into his belt. From the look on Gavin’s face, it seemed the .357 revolver was going to do quite a bit of the work for him.

All Hank had to do was stand up, hovering above the crooked cop with his hands by his hips, the gun dangling in clear view.

“What just happened?” Hank asked.

“It’s just an android, man,” Gavin said. “Just an android. You can get one shiny and new when you get home.”

“Not this one.”

Hank’s grip on his gun tightened. He didn’t know where that had come from. Gavin was right. It was just an android. He hadn’t wanted it on board, anyway. Connor had been a hassle and an annoyance, but when he thought about him floating through nothingness or getting torn up in the afterburn of their light-speed engines, his skin went cold.

“God damn it, Connor,” Hank muttered to himself.

#

Hank had managed to go his entire career as a space hauler without getting into an exo-suit even once. It was just another thing he was going to have to yell at Connor about when he hauled his ass back inside.

He’d locked Reed up in the apartment furthest from Ralph’s, for safe-keeping. The longer they could keep the two of them from knowing each other was there, the easier everyone’s lives would be. How much Reed had to do with the scars on Ralph’s body remained to be seen, but there was no doubt in Hank’s mind that Ralph would recognize him.

Hank didn’t like the cab being empty and unsupervised. In a way, he regretted not having a crew to keep an eye on things. Sighing, he slid the suit on over his head and heard the hiss and click of sealing and pressurization.

“Fuckin’ androids,” Hank said as the airlock slowly lifted open into void.

The stars looked strange out there, different than behind radioactivity-proof glass. Without going through a filter of atmosphere they no longer twinkled sharply, and were more rounded, glowing and sometimes pulsing. Just big old balls of hydrogen, warming planets Hank would never see.

Hank followed the path that Connor had taken until he was beyond the view of the ship’s outboard cameras. This was where his legs began to shake a little, fear worming into his body as the unknown rounded the corner.

He saw what was clinging to the side of his ship first. The bright emergency-red escape pod was clinging to the hull by a magnetic pull. This was how Gavin Reed had gotten inside. He’d found an emergency access panel and suctioned his pod to it. He’d probably thought they were going somewhere closer, and not necessarily to Earth, and there were signs that he was simply living in the confined ship alone for some time. It was like Connor had said—the supplies had to have run out and he’d been desperate enough to come in and try and take over.

He spotted Connor. His grey suit made him hard to see in the dim light against the gray hull. He looked unconscious, eyes closed; he would have been floating off into space, but then Hank saw what was holding him down.

The ship was beginning to tilt, the suction on the seal failing. If there were any noise in space, Hank imagined he’d be hearing the groan of complaining metal. It was beginning to tilt toward Connor’s prone body.

Hank carefully skirted the outside of the pod and could see better what had happened. Connor had been inside the pod bay doors and it had tilted and caught his arm, pinning him. As to why he seemed to be unconscious, Hank didn’t know. He wasn’t sure if androids _could_ be knocked out or if they just went offline. He saved that question for when he dragged Connor inside. He grabbed Connor by the arm and steered him. He saw Connor’s other hand. It was blackened. There had been a booby-trap.

The handle seemed to be wired at the base. Whoever was foolish enough to grab the steering rod would get a massive jolt of electricity. So less like being knocked out and more like short circuiting, Hank guessed.

Since it was space and there were electrical fields and a million other things could go wrong on the outside of a ship’s hull, Hank’s suit was insulated against electricity. He reached in and unwound the wires from the steering, though it was clumsy work. He turned his attention back to Connor.

“Come on, kid,” Hank said. “Wake up.”

He tapped Connor lightly on the cheek. Connor wasn’t stirring. He pulled his hand back, about to lay a hard slap on his face—

Of course, in space there was no sound, so he didn’t hear the groan that told him the pod was moving. By the time he saw it, out of the corner of his eye, it was already looming over him. The seal had failed completely and the magnetized hull was rolling.

He grabbed Connor’s left arm and yanked hard as he rolled out of the way. Sliding across the hull his stomach flipped as it was almost like he was going to shoot away and off into space, if it weren’t for the tether around his waist. He turned to see why he had stopped short of the length of the tether and his stomach dropped.

Hank found his footing again and moved as fast as he could toward Connor. He pulled once, but he was stuck even worse than before. Hank pushed against the hull of the pod, but it wouldn’t even rock.

There was a stirring underneath him and Connor’s eyes opened by degrees, and he blinked back to consciousness.

“Connor?” Hank asked.

Connor saw Hank’s face behind the bubble of the helmet. He reached up with bare fingers and pressed his fingertips to the glass. At the gentle, almost reverent gesture, Hank couldn’t help but smile.

Then Connor looked past him.

It was only the second time he’d seen an android look scared. It was more intense than Ralph’s, actual terror taking over. At the sight of panic on a synthetic face, Hank’s instinct was to grasp his free hand, though how much comfort there was through layers of insulation, Hank didn’t know.  Connor was looking outward, past Hank. The only thing that was there was the big black nothing of space, its wayfair points of light too far away to be of any comfort.

“It’s okay,” Hank said. “It’s gonna be okay, Connor. I’m gonna get you out of this.”

Connor seemed too shaken to speak, but he just nodded. Then he turned his head and saw why he couldn’t move. The fear in his eyes redoubled as he saw his arm pinned under the pod.

“It’s going to be okay,” Hank promised. “I’m going to get you out of here. I just gotta demagnetize the hull, and it’s going to float away. Got it?”

“Hank—,” Connor said, tinny and electronic in his ear.

“Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got you.”

“Hank!”

Hank turned back to Connor, whose face was rife with confusion. “I’m scared.”

Hank was about to say “don’t be” when he realized what was happening.

Connor was a machine. He wasn’t used to being scared. He might never have been scared before. What would an android even need to be scared for? It certainly wasn’t designed in them, except for as a sick joke. Unless—

Connor’s LED was cycling yellow and red as his processor overloaded.

He might have a deviant android on his hands.

Light years from home and unprotected but for a revolver that was indoors, he had nothing to shield himself from the unknown element. If he were smart, he would have left Connor out in space where he’d be no harm to anyone.

Hank decided he wasn’t going to be smart that day.

“This will all make sense with the gravity on,” Hank promised.

Hank moved past Connor and into Reed’s magnetized pod. He searched for the controls. He saw where Reed had crawled inside—it was a tight fit, but a determined man could worm his way through it without a suit so long as the seal was intact. Going light-speed with that thing open to space would have been a disaster, like Connor had feared.

Hank waved the debris of old food and small specks of red ice out of the way and saw that the electronics were idle—he’d have to turn the pod’s engine on to get rid of the magnetic field. He turned the ignition and all the lights in the pod came to life and he could see just how grimy the pod had gotten with Gavin sitting inside of it for what had to have been something like a week, deciding if it was worth the risk to hijack the ship, getting high to pass the time.

Hank activated the touch-screen and it worked, despite being cracked. He scrolled through the menu options until he found the one for demagnetizing the pod—

“Hank, look out!”

Hank turned his head and barely had time to register what was happening before his instincts kicked in and he ducked further back into the safety of the pod.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Hank swore.

There was no telling how much debris there was, or how long the cosmic shower would last. It could even be a precursor to an asteroid, the kind of thing he wouldn't have picked up out in deep space without luck. Usually the debris showers stayed closer to solar systems, but space was full of all sorts of unpredictable crap. Hank berated himself for not checking, but it was way too late to make up for any of that.

Connor was holding himself close to the side of the hull, shielding himself, but a few fast-moving pieces had torn away at his clothes, leaving rips in the fabric. Way too close. The only thing keeping them shielded was the pod. There was no way he was going to demagnetize it now.

Waiting it out wasn’t an option. There was no telling how long it would last. These things sometimes had trails that went on for days. Hank rocked back and hit the back of his helmet against the hull of the pod, closing his eyes, trying to get himself to think. He flinched as a particularly big piece of debris hit the side of the pod, nearly flying inside.

There was a noise—more like a growl—in his ear. The speaker was picking something up. It was Connor, who sounded like he was gritting his teeth and yelling behind them. It grew in volume until there was a huge cry.

Then, crawling inside the pod, surrounded by globules of blue blood, Connor appeared in the frame of the doorway. He rolled in, clumsily floating until he hit the wall next to Hank, hard.

His right arm was completely gone from the shoulder down.

“What did you _do_?” Hank asked, eyes wide as saucers.

“It’s okay,” Connor said, comforting him. “I won’t lose much thirium until I’m in a normal gravity environment.”

“Your fuckin’ arm!”

Connor almost smiled, but there was pain behind his expression. “I’m still more or less functional. Now we have to move fast if we want to get out of here. If we can get the seal back into place, restore the oxygen, and remove your suit, we can crawl back inside the way Reed did. What do you think, Hank? Can you help me?”

Hank sighed, looking Connor straight in the eye. He was shaking slightly. He was still scared. But he had ripped his own goddamn arm off to make sure Hank was about to get out of here alive.

“What do we do?” Hank asked.

The risk was the demagnetizing. They had a limited amount of time to demagnetize, pull it down, remagnetize and pressurize—and there was no telling how much time. Working together, they pulled the weightless pod over themselves, pulling it upright and magnetizing it again. The seal pressurized. Somehow it had worked. There was a noise as something rammed the side of the pod. Another moment and it would have knocked the pod into space, leaving them with no cover.

Hank took off his helmet.

“Recycled air,” Hank said with a gag. “This Gavin guy smells like trash.”

Hank stripped himself of the suit and the pair of them moved into the ship through the hatch. It was a tight squeeze, and Hank began regretting a few of those beers he had knocked back in the months before. More than a few.

They dropped into the floor of the hallway near the back of the cab, near the cargo bay, the panel where Gavin had snuck in. They shut the passageway behind them so that if anything happened to the pod, they were insulated. It shut with a hiss and a seal and couldn’t be opened again. Hank was panting and holding his side.

“Jesus, kid,” Hank said. “You are one crazy—”

Connor was wobbling. He tilted and had to hold himself up with his left hand pressed against the wall.

“Connor?”

“I’ve damaged internal sys—,” Connor said before correcting himself. “It’s worse than I thought.”

There was a lot of blood. Blue blood was falling out of his arm socket in drooling pools. Hank barely caught him as he fell forward.

“No,” Hank said. “You are not passing out on me.”

“At this rate of thirium loss I’ll be unable to reactivate.”

“Shut up. Just shut up and tell me what to do.”

Connor’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he swooned.

Hank scrambled. There had to be something he could do. There was no thirium on board, no extra robot parts, and he didn’t know how to patch up the wires that were gushing.

Then an image flashed in his head—the cargo bay, the cyberlife cargo.

He picked up Connor’s heavy, slumping body and dragged him to the cargo bay.

The container stood like a monolith in the center of the cargo bay. They limped over to it, Connor trying to find his feet. He stood in front of the container. On the end there was a keypad and a screen. He did the obvious thing and pushed the green button.

 _AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED_ , chirped the computer’s voice.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” Hank said. “Open!”

 _AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED_.

“Connor. Connor, wake up!”

“…can’t…open,” Connor mumbled. “Orders…CyberLife…”

“I’m trying to save your life here. There’s gotta be something inside to help you. Now how the hell do I get into this fuckin’ thing?”

Connor whispered something inaudible and Hank leaned in.

“What?”

Then, just loud enough to hear, “ _…hand_.”

Hank remembered Connor laying his hand down and interfacing with the screen. He picked up Connor’s left hand and pressed it into the screen. There was a chirping, positive electronic sound just before the container hissed. “Serial number 313 248 317 - 51, access granted. Welcome, Connor.”

Hank grabbed the doors and pushed them open faster than their automation was geared for. He stepped inside the container and found himself in a cold haze. When it cleared, he stopped short. He saw, standing in blue-hazed cryogenic tubes, four androids frozen in a cold, deep sleep.

“Christ,” Hank said, shoulders dropping. “What is it now?”

**Author's Note:**

> hey check me out on [tumblr](http://noncorporealform.tumblr.com) for more good fun times


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